


Train Fiction

by FrangipaniFlower



Category: Homeland
Genre: AU, All Seasons, Angst and Romance, Canon, Christmas, F/M, Friendship, Halloween, Humour, Joni Mitchell, PTSD, Snippets, Vince Gueraldi, love and romance, love and sex, oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2018-08-19 18:02:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8220050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrangipaniFlower/pseuds/FrangipaniFlower
Summary: A collections of oneshots and snippets. Each chapter is written on one of my train rides to or from work. A lot of CQ but other relationships and characters will make reappearences.All written in trains.
  NEW: CHAPTER 9 RIVER III 

  A last glimpse on Christmas 2016 in New York.





	1. Indian Dinner

Long stare. Strand of hair behind her ear.

_She won't see it, or will she? Just a tiny smile, measured, looking away again, as it's unbearable._

"Quinn?"

"Huh?"

"Why are you looking at me like this?"

Maybe he should just tell her. Sign up for Syria then and leave tonight.

Dream of a flash of blond hair sometimes. Or a flicker of a smile.

"I'm about to leave."

"Going home? It's late anyway."

"Kind of."

"I'll see you tomorrow."

_No, Carrie, you won't see me tomorrow._

"Yeah."

"Quinn? I...we never had that indian dinner you once suggested. I...if you're busy it's okay but..."

_Can't think, can't talk._

Her shoulders straighten as if she made a decision.

"I could give Indian a try. If you still like it, that is."

"Are you asking me to have dinner together? Now?"

_God, that came a bit too gruffy. Not what sounded like a pleased yes._

"Yes. Or no. Any night. I mean we always work late and never...but it's okay. Just go. Bye. See you tomorrow."

"Sure. Indian. Why not. We could...now..."

"Okay then."

A smile. It looks like a real one.

"Okay then."

 


	2. Berlin

He came back from Syria after more than a year. 

Debrief, a new motel, two boxes from the storage unit.

He drove by her condo the first night. It was dark. So he told himself it didn't matter and went back to the motel.

That night he dreamt of her. For the first time in fourteen months.

The next morning he waited for her in the Langley parking lot. Better to see her and let her know he was back as to run into her by accident.

She didn't come.

He drove by her sister's house on his way back but the driveway was empty.

When he checked her condo at night again he saw a couple walking up the stairs and unlocking the door. 

_She's not here anymore._

He hacked the system that night and learnt she'd left the agency. Her petition for realease was dated a day after he'd left for Syria.

The last page of her file was an official note from Saul to the Berlin station chief, saying she'd applied to a german philantrophic foundation and to have an eye on her. Her security clearance had been high, way too high, they'd never set her free.

Berlin.

It wasn't hard to find her. Even if he still didn't know why he wanted to see her. There was nothing left to say.

He got his marching order to Jemen. Open end, self extract.

So he decided to leave via Berlin and Turkey. Or maybe, just maybe...

Just to see she was doing okay.

That's what he told himself.

He waited for her on a sunny early summer morning, outside her new office building. Almost determined to talk to her. To tell her why he'd left. That it hadn't been her fault. And to see the answer in her eyes. Her eyes had always given her away. But he hadn't had the guts to wait for her answer fourteen months ago.

She came by bike. An empty kid's seat on her carrier. 

The sun danced on her hair. She was looking good. Well-rested. Happy-ish.

A red-haired man cycled next to her. They locked the bikes, he said something he couldn't hear, Carrie smiled, a real smile, and the man's arm went around her shoulder when he kissed her forehead.


	3. Morning before Deployment

He has to leave today. 

For the last three weeks she was his haven, a safe place to recuperate. A shot at normal life. A place to come home to.

He is still surprised that she didn't ask questions. They only had that one evening before he left to Syria and not much happened then. But somehow she got under his skin.

She has a way to make him feel like he is the only person who ever mattered. 

So when he comes back two months later he gives in to the sudden urge and goes back to the non-descript building complex where he has spent that one night with her. 

He is pretty sure he's been there before. Quinn once used to live there. Strange co-incident. But given the state of affairs of his comrade it's not that he can ask her if she ever met him.

It feels good to make someone, no her, happy. He never had that before.

She asks the right questions and gives him all the time in the world to phrase his answers. She doesn't question the nature of what he's doing. He can't tell her everything. Not yet. But soldier works for her. And he's pretty sure she has an idea that there is more. He stopped having nightmares a long time ago. But sometimes when he lays awake at night he feels her arms coming around him and thinks she's awake and she senses that there is more. Memories which keep him miles away from sleep in some nights.

She laughs a lot and makes him laugh, her humor is dry and sharp and there is no book in the world she hasn't read yet. He never was much of a reader but he likes to listen when she speaks about books like they were a world of their own.

He wants to take her out for dinner but she says she prefers to stay at home. She's a great cook so in the beginning he doesn't pay attention. It takes him a few days to understand she's avoiding to go on a date outside.

It's not something they talk about. He knows that he has to leave in a few days time and thinks it might be too early. But she is beautiful. And that's what he keeps telling her. At night. And during the day.

So yesterday when she was running a few errands he sat down and wrote a few lines. He never did that before. It feels strange and yet right. Just in case.

And today he'll have to leave. It's harder and easier than ever before. Easier because now he knows what he'll return too. Harder because of the very same reason.

She's still asleep, her gorgeous flood of red hair all over the pillow, a secret little smile on her lips, her arm across his chest. Eden. There couldn't be a better name for her. That's who and what she is: Eden. Utter perfection and happiness.

There are still five hours left. So he leans in and kisses her, losing himself in the sensations.

"Promise to survive, Rob, will you?", she mutters and that's the only sentence that matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe there will be more one day. I want happiness for both of them.
> 
> Definition of Eden found in MerriamWebster: a place of utter perfection and happiness.


	4. Making Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making up after a fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For SNQA - I hope it meets your expectations.

Eighteen months after Berlin. Eleven months since Iran. Ten months since they got together. Five months after he moved in with her and Frannie. Two months after their first weekend away together. A few days since he is out of all kinds of therapy as no further progress is expected.

They have the first fight which makes him stay away the night. She doesn't sleep all night but pretends not to care.

She has been working late and he has been in a brooding mood all week. He knows he often is unbearable with his mood swings, flashes of anger or anxiety and his nightmares and tries to make up for it on good days. On bad days not so much.

He quit the agency and is still trying to find what he would like to do. And someone has to be with Frannie anyway as Carrie is working ridiculous hours ever since Elizabeth won the elections.

They fight over stupid stuff, her coming home late, him quitting therapy without telling her, he simply forgot, it hasn't been his intention to keep it secret. She wants him to go for further sessions and he rejects, thinking she is pushing him as he is not good enough for her. And she feels shut out of major decisions although they share a life.

When he comes back again - tired from walking all night, stubble around his chin, dark rings under his eyes - neither of them can remember what kickstarted that rapidly escalating match, both of them aiming to hurt and knowing which buttons to push.

She's sitting in a chair in the living room.

No lights, morning shadows creeping in, Frannie's still asleep.

_What if he storms out of that door one day and doesn't come back?_

_What if I come home one day and she says she can't bear with me anymore?_

Suddenly he's back, filling the room with his presence. She knows he's back before she can see or hear him.

He enters the room, silently and kneels down in front of her placing both his hands in her lap, the good hand and the one which is still often numb, cramped and without control. Not always but too often.

He never says he's sorry. Because where should he start and where to stop?

She never says she loves him because he knows it anyway.

But exposing his weakness right in front of her rarely happens.

She doesn't look at his hands, just searches his eyes in the dim light of the early morning and puts her hands on his.

There is a moment of sacred stillness between them before she leans in and kisses him.

He needs to have her. Now and right here. Needs to make her his.

She's still wearing the dress she's been wearing in the office the day before. His hands slide to her knees and then up her thighs as his tongue enters her mouth, probing, exploring, savoring. She can feel her body responding instantly, this is always their retreat and their way to communicate when words fail.

They still often fail with words.

His hands reach her underwear, she feels the tips of his fingers grating across the fabric and finally her hands go around his neck, clutching him closer, her hands in his hair now, just shy of painful.

His fingers are gliding over the soft damp fabric of her underwear, an elusive touch betraying his want and his need and she can't stand the restraint pace and cants her hips forward into his touch while she breaks the kiss, and her lips glide down to his neck, down his carotid artery, she feels his pulse hammering, and grates her teeth over it.

"Undress", he whispers, his voice hoarse, "get naked. For me."

She knows he needs this now and she needs him and it's the twisted reality of their relationship that they often can't talk about it but what they always can do is show and feel it.

He moves back and gets up, pulling her with him, and kisses her once more, deep and possessive, his healthy hand around her ass now, she can feel him through the light fabric of her dress, huge and warm and demanding.

And if there was still any doubt she feels he's rock hard against her hip where he presses himself against her.

Suddenly he lets go of her, she almost loses her balance but then he has her again.

She feels him breathing a laugh and this time he lets go of her gently as if to make sure she's aware.

She feels his eyes on her, he's looming in front of her and she wants him so much, wants to make everything up for him and give it all to him.

He's back with her when she's opened all the buttons and steps out of her dress.

His hands stroke greedily over her warm skin, waist, shoulders, arms, her back, and she fumbles with his belt.

"Not yet", he whispers, "I wanna feel you naked first."

He opens her bra, deftly single-handedly now, and slides her briefs down, impatience taking over.

Crack of dawn sends the first rays of daylight through the curtains and now she's allowed to open his belt, yank down his pants and briefs with one swift movement and pull him back to her.

He uses his superiority to push her towards the kitchen counter, pulling his shirt over his head on their way.

Lifting her with one arm he places her on the counter, rougher than intended, but her arms are still around him, pulling him close, her mouth his searching and finding his. His hands rover around her body, hastily, firm pressure, worshipping her curves and intending to cherish her.

He pulls her closer to the counter's edge, her legs now open and expecting, their breathing already ragged when he pushes into her with one firm stroke, hard enough to make her slide back on the countertop.

Her legs go around his waist, her heels crossed and locked over his ass, he locks his arm around her and secures her where he wants her.

And then he starts fucking her earnestly, their panting the only sounds, her eyes locked with his in the early morning twilight of their living room, long and hard strokes. He slams into her over and over again, needs to take her and have her, and she surrenders, gives herself over to his increasing pace. He feels her orgasm building up and knows she'll start making those noises any second. And he needs to hear it, it's all what's holding his own release away from him for just a few more seconds.

She arches her back, her head bangs back on the countertop, her neck exposed and vulnerable when he brings a hand between them, pulsating pressure on her clit with his thumb making her gasp and starting those sonorous whines he's yearning for.

Two more thrusts and he's there too, buried deep inside her and with a rare intensity. He's gasping with the force of the pleasure, using one hand to hold her in place and enjoying the feeling of her clenching around him.

Bent on her back on the counter she can't see him just feel him, her hands and arms uselessly splayed over the countertop, and let him have her, allowing herself to surrender to him, the pleasure and the waves he's sending through her writhing body.

"Fuck Carrie", he breathes when he gathers her in his arms and clutches her to his chest, his cock still twitching inside her.

They kiss, languorously now, and she feels him pulling out when he lifts her from the counter without breaking the kiss.

Her legs are still crossed behind his back and this is how he carries her over to their bedroom.

Poised over her he kisses her again, lingering and with time and patience now.

"Quinn...", but he doesn't let her finish and it's not that she knows what she was going to say anyway.

"No", he mutters against her lips and then a few seconds later, "stay here. Don't move an inch. Call in sick today. I'll go and wake Frannie, get her ready for school and then I'll be back. I want more. Of you."

She's never done that, skipping an office day or meeting for him, for them.

There's a pause, her hands still caressing his back, his mouth nuzzling the soft skin below her earlobe, a moment of silence just a bit too long.

"Yeah. That's what I'll do."

He notices only then how important it is to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That took longer to write than 37 minutes. If you like it say Thank you to the nut job who pulled the emergency break of my train and made a 37 minutes journey 75 minutes long.


	5. Trick or Treat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halloween
> 
> For Zeffy. Specialty of the house - fluff and cotton candy.

The nanny was gone and all Quinn had to do was to get Frannie ready and walk her to her party. Carrie would pick her up later.

It was the one hour of the day he was upstairs and taking care of Frannie. The nanny had to leave punctually for her evening classes and Carrie couldn't adjust her schedule. And he had far too much time anyway. So he'd volunteered. Kind of. But it was at least something he could do for her. He wasn't paying rent, she wouldn't accept any money. So he was the back up babysitter.

But Franny was nowhere to be seen. Usually she waited for him in the kitchen with a plate with cookies but not today.

So he checked her room. And there she was, lying in her small white bed, arms around her bunny, Henry or Hugo or Harry or whatever, crying a river.

 _Shit_.

"Hey, what's wrong? Don't you have that party this afternoon?"

Even he knew she'd been looking forward to it, as she'd been talking about it all week, each and every afternoon. She had a padded pumpkin costume and a little pumpkin-shaped basket and even orange tights with green dots.

He had some doubts about her choice of costume, it was very orange, trump-like orange, but she was a kid for god's sake and her hair-colour wasn't her fault. But it was very orange. And now laid tossed on the ground of Frannie's room.

"Frannie, what is it? Wanna tell me?"

He sat at the corner of the bed and the little girl flung her arms around him, sobbing in his baggy shirt now.

"I can't go-o."

"Why not?"

"Brian said, I have pumpkin-hair. O-orange like a pum-, a pumpkin."

_Mean fucking Brian. That FBI goon's damn kid. A chip of the old block._

"And that's why you don't wanna go?"

"They will all laugh. And all the moms are coming. Only my mom isn't."

"You know your mom's work is important."

"She makes the orange guy lose."

"Exactly. Just a few more days."

"But Halloween is today."

Frannie had a hiccup now and he knew he was fucked and had to come up with something soon.

"Do you want me to come with you?"

_Fuck. Where did that come from?"_

"You don't have a costume."

"We can get one for me."

"But you are not my mom."

"No. Apparently not."

"What costume do you want?"

"No idea. Do you want a new one too?"

"I liked my pumpkin costume. You could be a pumpkin too. Nobody would make fun of me when we are two pumpkins."

_Great. A pumpkin. But how can I say 'No' now?_

"Well then, go wash your face and let's get ready. We can stop at that shop on Flatbush Ave on our way."

"Are you really coming? And doing trick or treat like all the other parents? Not just stepping aside and having an important phone call?"

_Like all the other parents...good God._

"Yes. But let's go now. We don't wanna be late."

Ten minutes later they sat in a cab, Quinn and a little excited pumpkin. With a facepaint in a shade of orange that made his eyes bleed.

Another twenty minutes later he was wearing a matching padded pumpkin costume, but Frannie was generous - he was allowed to wear his sweatpants, she didn't insist on orange tights.

When they sat in the taxi back to Bedford Styvesant to Frannie's friends Anna's house - her family was hosting the party - Frannie pulled an item out of her pumpkin basket.

"Sit still, I'll colour your face."

And so it happened that Carrie Mathison arrived an hour later as she'd planned to pick up her daughter from her first Halloween party - only to see her little pumpkin walking down the street which a bunch of other kids - little ghosts, magicians, witches, a skeleton and a spiderman - and their mothers. Next to the little pumpkin was a big pumpkin with an equally horrible orange painted face like the little one. He was even wearing a pumpkin hat with a green stem.

Dominic kept talking but she wasn't listening anymore, thinking that there always had been more to Peter Quinn than one would guess on first sight.

So she made herself seen and stepped to the group, kissing the small pumpkin and then the big pumpkin on their orange cheeks.

"Nice facepaint, Quinn. So, tell me: Trick or treat?"

 

 


	6. Apraxia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A missing scene in 6.01, what happens right after Carrie yelled at the security guards?
> 
> Promptfill for mary3k514.

"I can't take care of you on my own and you won't allow me to put you in a private program. So this is what you've got. I wish it was different."

They'd talked about this before. More or less. She apologized about twice a week for not being able to _take care_ of him. Mostly he didn't answer. Twice he'd thrown a mug after her. And missed by two feet. So much about accuracy in marksmanship. The second time had gotten him a night in the lock ward.

Since then she put the mug and used plates on the trolley outside before she sat with him in his room or met him in the lounge room.

She was so fucking calm about it. Like he was a four year old throwing a tantrum.

The thing was, he hated it when she was there. And counted the hours and minutes between her visits. Usually she came at around 4pm. Sometimes already at 10am but only for a few minutes. Often he made her miss him. Changed his therapy appointments last minute so he wouldn't be in his room when she came. Then he could watch her from the window going back to her car.

Today she said she'd stop visiting. He barely kept it together. It was all too much. His head hurt, he'd missed two doses of his fucking meds so he couldn't even answer because soon the speech impediment and the stutter would get worse, he needed her to leave now, he couldn't deal with her not coming back, his leg cramped, she hadn't even been angry when she'd found him at Clarice's crappy place and now she put him back here like a stray dog.

There was no way he could stay here a second longer, not a single second. They couldn't make him, could they? He just had to-

He miscalculated, again. She was still there. So instead of just leaving, disappearing into the crowds, finding a bench to sleep on and let the cold of the November night offer a merciful embrace and take care of the ridiculous remainder of him, instead of some peace at last, he ran right into her.

He didn't want to hurt her, not this time. But she wouldn't let him go. So he ended up with his hand at her neck.

She'd kicked one of the security guard's kneecaps as the asshole hadn't let go right away when she'd yelled at him to stop it.

Carrie wasn't good at taking antagonism as an answer.

He still had the words, _antagonism_ , he just couldn't find and pronounce them.

She was angry, fuming with rage. She yelled at the security guards, at the nurse, at the doctor. The whole lobby knew now where she'd picked him up earlier.

The head nurse had gotten a wheel chair and had rolled him into one of the admission cubicles next to the lobby. She then disappeared again to get his meds.

They were alone for a minute, then two. Neither of them spoke but she folded first.

"Fine, Quinn. You win. I take you out of here. You can live at my house, in the garden apartment. We make you transfer into the outpatient program.  
Don't mess this one up, because if you do, I'll put you in the private program I spoke about, no matter what."

He wasn't going to answer, she knew that.

He was going to say something, but couldn't, he'd seen it coming, the speech would be gone til his meds kicked in. Apraxia, they called it. Fucking nightmare, he called it.

He knew she thought he was being stubborn and impossible, denying to giver her anything. He could deal with that.

What he couldn't deal with was her pity. And he'd get plenty of that should she ever learn about the nature of his tenacious silence.

The nurse came back and gave him his pills. A fucking rainbow. Maybe he'd start to glow in the dark or some other fun side effect from all the chemicals they fed him these days. He wasn't able to wash half of them down in the toilet with Carrie watching. But he kept the oval blue one in his cheek pouch, hoping it wouldn't dissolve until they were outside and he could spit it out. Xanax made him dizzy and sleepy.

But Carrie gave him a quizzical look with averted eyes, got up, filled a glass with tap water and handed it to him.

Fuck with them, but not with me, I know this bullshit too well - that was what she silently conveyed.

So he felt the Xanax dissolving, felt the powdery texture, the bitter aftertaste and knew he had twenty minutes max.

He made it to her car which still stood near the back entrance. By the time he arrived the passenger side he couldn't open the door himself anymore. So Carrie did that. She fastened his seatbelt and he felt himself drifting off, chin tugged in to his chest, drooling and snoring, in Carrie's car.

He missed her getting off the car but she was back when he woke up two hours later, guiding him inside.


	7. River

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late afternoon in Quinn's basement, a few days before Christmas. Things are pretty bleak these days. But maybe, just maybe...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my fellow fanfic writers and all the readers following us through the adventure of our fanfic advent calendar.

It's already dark outside. There's not much daylight anyway these days, not before nine and not after four, and the inbetween is a greyish twilight, at least in his basement quarters. Which he is not leaving these days. Not since he came back three days ago. More to the point: was allowed to come back. It's pathetic but there's no other place he could go to. So he's back, spending the days either in bed or on the couch and the nights walking around like a caged animal, nightmares of a lifetime haunting him in his sleep.

He nearly overhears the soft knocking sound at the door. It's not that he's having much visitors these days. Carrie is still, dunno, pissed, scared, busy, whatever. And the new nanny clearly has been told not to repeat her predecessor's fault to invite him upstairs in the afternoons.

But there's that sound again. So he goes and checks. As soon as he opens the door she weasels inside, her little arms busy with holding an array of items he can't really see.

She stops at the threshold to his living-sleeping-boredom-room and gives him a furrowed brow.

"You should really open the window and let some fresh air in. And why don't you switch on the light?"

"What are you doing here? You know you're not allowed down here."

 

No, she isn't. Not since -

 

"I need your help with my homework."

"Listen, Frannie, I know this is difficult but -"

This is more than he spoke in three days.

"No other adult is around. And it was due today and I didn't have it."

"Ask your mom."

"She's busy. She's been working late four days in a row."

 _Interesting_.

 

"And your new nanny? What's her name?"

"Esperita. She is busy too. She is talking to Hijodeputa."

She says it like a name and it takes him a second too long to connect his brain cells.

"To whom?"

"Hijodeputa. He's not nice I think. She's always yelling when he's on phone. And the. She cries and meets him outside and lets me watch TV."

So much about the new nanny child protection service made a prerequisite to allow Frannie come back home. He feels the surge of hot anger rising in his chest but - who is he to judge? That's what brought them here in the first place, that he started to care again.

"Are you helping me? I got an extra day. But mommy won't be home before eight she said. And she's not good at it. It's too late then anyway."

"What is it?"

"Thank you, thank you, you will like it."

 

Finally she empties the clutter in her arms to his couch and he finds himself to open the window for a moment for a breeze of fresh air.

When he closes it again Frannie is standing next to the coffee table, looking at him expectantly.

"Can you light it? I stole the matches but I'm not allowed to use them."

 

There's a candle on the desk, next to a plate with cookies and an orange.  
The arrangement is completed by a broken candy cane.

"What's that?"

"My homework is talking about Christmas songs and traditions with my parents."

"I'm not your parent."

"No."

Her small face is clouding and he immediately could kick himself for being such a dick.

"Hey. I didn't say no. Just want to make sure it counts."

"I have no Dad. My teacher knows. And mom's not home. So I thought if I say I asked my friend... you are an adult..."

One could doubt that, he thought, but knew better than to say.

"I don't know much about Christmas."

"But I do. Sit and have a cookie. Do you have cocoa?"

"No, sorry. Water and maybe there's some orange juice."

Carrie keeps buying stuff for him so his pantry is surprisingly and unnecessarily well stocked.

"Pulp or no pulp?"

"Pulp."

"I'll take water."

Well, what was he expecting?

 

So finally they are settled and he obediently has a cookie in his hand.

"And now we talk."

"Yeah."

"What's your favorite Christmas tradition?"

"Listen Frannie, I-"

"Christmas is not just about presents. Say other things. Not just Santa. How about staying in PJ's all day and listening to Christmas songs? We did that last year."

_Back in Berlin, before the shit hit the fan._

"Sounds fun."

"Yes. But nobody came to visit. Not even Aunt Maggie. I was hoping she might come as a surprise but she didn't. What's your favorite Christmas song?"

"I don't have one."

"Everyone has a favorite Christmas song. Just mom, she only hears fast music which is _like_ a Christmas song."

_This kid._

 

He takes another cookie.

"Please. Quinn. Everybody has to tell during show and tell."

He sighs and considers making up some memories. Because stories about ambushes in Afghanistan on Christmas morning are probably not what her teacher is looking for.

"One song. Silent night? Little drummer boy? Jingle bells?"

Her curls are dancing when she's bouncing on her seat.

 

"You know a song called River?"

"That doesn't sound like Christmas."

"It's a Christmas song."

"Can you sing it?"

"God. No. Frannie, I'm no singer."

"But nobody will know it. Do you have a CD?"

"No."

 

She looks genuinely worried and so he sighs, gets up and gets the phone Carrie got him, charged and set up, the one he never uses. Probably she's been planning to track his movements with it. What she hasn't taken into consideration - he can't press the buttons, they are too tiny.

"Can you use that?"

Frannie looks at him incredulous. Who can not use an Iphone?

So he spells it for her.

"J-o-n-i, new word, M-i-t-c-h-e-l-l, new word, R-i-v-e-r."

Frannie gives it back to him and he presses the first entry with an audio file.

 

  
_It's coming on Christmas_  
_They're cutting down trees_  
_They're putting up reindeer  
And singing songs of joy and peace_

_Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on_

_But it don't snow here_  
_It stays pretty green_  
_I'm going to make a lot of money  
Then I'm going to quit this crazy scene_

_  
Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on_

_I wish I had a river so long  
I would teach my feet to fly_

  
_I wish I had a river I could skate away on  
I made my baby cry_

 _He tried hard to help me_  
 _You know, he put me at ease_  
And he loved me so naughty  
Made me weak in the knees  
Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on

 _I'm so hard to handle_  
_I'm selfish and I'm sad_  
_Now I've gone and lost the best baby_  
 _That I ever had  
I wish I had a river I could skate away on_

 _Oh, I wish I had a river so long_  
_I would teach my feet to fly_  
I wish I had a river  
I could skate away on  
I made my baby say goodbye

 _It's coming on Christmas_  
 _They're cutting down trees_  
They're putting up reindeer  
And singing songs of joy and peace

_  
I wish I had a river I could skate away on_

 

 

Frannie studies him for two more seconds.

"Can you play it again?"

He does and then there's silence. And he thinks that hasn't been his best idea this week. He should have sent her away right away.

"Can you ice skate?"

_I can barely tie my shoes._

 

"No, Frannie, I can't."

"That's not a very Christmassy song. It just says Christmas."

"Yeah."

"It sounds very sad."

"Yeah. I think it's meant to sound sad."

"Are you sad?"

"I'm fine, Frannie. Thanks for visiting me. The cookies are good."

"Aunt Maggie sent them. Mommy promised to get the recipe but -"

 

And then her little chin wobbles and she starts to cry.

_Oh no._

 

"This is not a real Christmas. We don't bake. We don't listen to music. We don't have a tree. Mommy says we can't go and see Aunt Maggie because of things I don't know. And maybe Santa doesn't even know that I moved away from Germany."

Thick round tears roll down her chubby little cheeks.

 

He's dumbstruck and freezes to his seat. He's pretty sure this wasn't how this assignment was planned to go by her teacher.

 

"Frannie...", but he doesn't finish the sentence, what could he offer as comfort anyway?

But he gets up and moves around the table where she's sitting on the couch - the couch Carrie bought for him - and tousles her hair.

The little girl curls and cuddles into his side and what else can he do but to hug her?

 

"Santa knows where you live. I'm sure."

"Really?"

"He knows where all the children live, I was told."

"Did he always find you?"

"One year he gave me a wooden train set."

 

That was a lie, but he thought he could bear with another misdeed on his long list.

 

"That's what I want too. I wrote that on my list. And a doll like the one I had in Germany."

"And what else?"

 

_At least she's stopped crying._

 

"Just these two. Mommy said it's got to not to ask for too much."

"Right."

But she's still sitting on his lap.

"Frannie, I'll talk to your mom about the tree."

"Thank you."

"But you should go upstairs now. Before Esperita is missing you."

 

She gets up, reluctantly as far as he can tell.

 

"Go and wash your face, sweetie. And tell your teacher my favorite Christmas tradition is having cookies with you."

"We just did it the first time."

"That's how traditions start."

 

He packs her candle, the matches, the plate and the few remaining cookies in a plastic bag he's seen in the kitchen cupboard earlier and hands her the bundle when she's back from the bathroom.

"What do you want for Christmas, Quinn?"

 

_A river._

 

"Nothing, Frannie, I've got all I need."

"But mommy... oh...", her eyes widen but then she controls herself, squares her little shoulders and changes the subject, he know that behaviour all too well, "I'll go upstairs now. Bye, Quinn."

"Bye Frannie. Thanks for visiting me."

 

He goes back into his room, his phone is still on the table.

 

It might take a while but it's not that he has a pressing schedule of important things to do.

So he takes it and a few minutes later he hits "send".

 

_Carrie, we need to talk. Please. Quinn._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone watch Ally McBeal in the 90ies? Remember Larry (Robert Downey jr.)? He sung that song in the famous bar when he was missing his child (yes) nobody knew about. Later the said child, a little boy, sued his parents for emotional damage. I guess HL S6 will be even worse, b/c other than Ally McBeal - no comedy, no romcom.
> 
> But: Frannie deserves better than recent spoilers suggest. Join us if you want to discuss the Frannie spoilers, you can post as Anon: 
> 
> http://carrie-quinn.livejournal.com/174558.html


	8. River II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn's Pre-Christmas Surprise for Franny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed some Franny-fluff.

After they'd talked things became easier and more difficult.

Easier because he knew now she wasn't angry.  
More difficult because he knew how much he still fucking cared and yet there was no solution available.

Threatening Carrie with the menace of taking Franny away from her permanently was the one thing she couldn't fight.

Neither could he.

So there was no point in telling her what questions were wracking his mind when he couldn't find sleep.

He saw she wasn't well. She swallowed back some tears when he told her that Franny had been asking for a tree, cookies and her aunt. Probably she would cry later when she was alone.

He briefly considered checking on her. But if the nanny was still around or for some fucked up reason Child Protection Service would pay a visit...

But he had a tree delivered to her door the next day. He paid extra for the guy to set it up and say it was ordered by Maggie Mathison. Of course that was a mediocre cover but it just had to get the delivery guy past the threshold. As soon as the nanny would have allowed him to set it up Carrie wouldn't deny Franny to keep it.

Making cookies was way beyond his skill set (and honestly, somewhere had to be a line) but there was something else he could do.

He heard Franny excitedly chatting with her nanny when they left for their afternoon walk. She said she wanted to make paper chains because they had no ornaments. And asked if they could go to the carousel her friends had told about.

He knew the carousel. He walked around the city a lot. It was between the bridges, near the river, at the park there. He'd watched kids riding on the classic carved horses and charriots for some afternoons. Thinking if John might like it. Or was eight too old for a carousel ride?

\------------------

When Frannie woke up on Saturday morning and went downstairs to  
collect the newspaper from the mailbox for her mom she found a parcel on the stairs, carrying her name in large letters.

She took it inside and Quinn smiled when he heard her little excited voice through the connecting door, for once in his life not feeling bad about spying at all.

"Mommy, Mommy, ornaments, we have ornaments. Maybe Aunt Maggie sent them."

He knew Carrie would know who had placed the box on the stairs but he didn't mind. She wouldn't deny her daughter the joy.

And then another squeal: "Mom, what's that? Oh Mom, are they all for me? Can we go today? I want you to  
come with me, please. You don't have to work today, have you?"

They left the house an hour later. They would take the train to High Street and then walk. So all he had to do was to take a cab to the entry at Dock Street and make his way to the waterfront.

Carrie and Franny would have to walk half a mile from the station so he had just enough time to get there.

\--------------

Franny was excited, and Carrie couldn't help it, her daughter's good mood was rubbing off on her. It was the first time since... since Franny was back home, that they went for a fun outing.

Franny had checked for the orange envelope with the colorful tickets at least twenty times during the train ride. Now they were in her dufflecoat's pocket again and her small gloved hand was in hers.

Frannie pulled her to go faster and when they arrived at the pavilion Carrie had to admit that it was a spectacular sight - the traditional carousel, nearly a hundred years old, in front of the river and Brooklyn Bridge.

It was a beautiful day, cold but sunny, the night had brought some snow and they were the first customers, the pavilion's huge glass doors were just pushed to open.

Franny chose a wooden horse with giant teeth, saying he looked like he was smiling and proudly presented one of her twelve tickets.

Carrie took a photo with her phone, sent it to Maggie and stepped back, watching her daughter's bright smile as the carousel picked up speed, Christmas songs sounding from the speakers.

She hadn't been in a christmasy mood at all, for obvious reasons, but here and now while watching her daughter enjoying her ride, she felt herself relaxing and indulging in the moment.

She knew he'd be somewhere around, watching them. But she knew also she wouldn't see him as long as he would not choose to make himself seen.

She stepped closer when the carousel stopped but as Franny climbed off the horse by herself, picked another one and pulled herself up again she retreated again to a nearby bench and sat down.

Franny waved several times and she waved back.

Quinn sat down next to her during Franny's fourth ride, handing her an orange paper cup.

"Sorry. They only do hot chocolate. No coffee."

"You're spoiling her. Twelve tickets."

"I owed her."

"Thank you."

"She seems to like it."

Carrie looked at him for the first time. Things were tough, for both of them, and CPS intervention hadn't made it any easier. He looked tired. And maybe sad. But gave her a small smile. Trying to make it easier for me, she thought.

"They won't make us here."

"No. And she's not even here with us. So I guess it's okay."

"No. It's not. They had no right."

But she wouldn't fight with him. Not today.

They had their drinks in silence. But when Franny had her twelfth ride she got up, contemplating for a moment, and then bent down again to kiss his cheek.

"Thanks for making the day so special for her."

He watched her meeting Frannie when the carousel stopped and then how the two of them were walking away. Franny turned before they turned around the corner and raised her hand to wave him.

He waved back.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own the pictures. Check Jane's Carousel Brooklyn Bridge Park, the carousel is real.


	9. River III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a while. But a conversation with my friends about favorite Christmas songs made me think about what I wrote here a year ago. I always wanted to add another scene, so here is Christmas Eve.
> 
> It’s still December 2016, in New York, in Carrie‘s brownstone. The hostage situation did happen,  
> but Quinn is back from hospital some time later.
> 
> And the downstairs apartment has an entrance from the main staircase.
> 
> And its _River III_ so River I and II belong to the same AU/fic.

It was Christmas Eve and he heard their steps all afternoon. Small feet, running around, slower steps, more measured, those were Carrie‘s. 

He heard them laughing, and then the water pipes made the sound travel, Franny having a bath, Carrie washing her hair, the two of them making silly rhymes.

Franny went to bed later than usual, and then the house was silent.

He had spent most of the day in bed, no appointments, nowhere to be. Listening to them made him feel sad, and yet - like he still was part of something. Not really a part but at least at the outer edges, not completely left behind. He‘d fucked up royally, he knew that now, and albeit he knew too that he should be beyond grateful that she still allowed him to be here, that things hadn’t taken an even worse turn, that Franny was somehow okay - none of that kept his mind from wondering. 

_Why? Fucking why?_

He wouldn’t be able to sleep now, no point in even trying, it would take another few hours before exhaustion would claim him and give him a few hours of light, restless sleep.

So he got up and had a shower. Just brief enough to be clean. He considered warming one of the meals Carrie had placed in his fridge when he hadn’t been _home_ the other day, but then decided he wasn’t hungry. 

He heard the creaking stairs when he got dressed again, it was less loud than usual, like someone sneaking inside the house trying not to make a sound.

Cursing the fact that his secretly acquired Glock was locked away in the safebox beneath the bed he slowly moved towards the door, grabbing a knife from the kitchen counter on his way.

A moment of surprise was all he needed.

But then he heard a familiar voice muttering _Fuck_ under her breath.

_Carrie. Christ._

Putting the knife on a small sideboard first, he opened the door, stunned when he saw Carrie standing next to the stairs, arranging a plate with nuts and sweets, holding a Christmas stocking between her teeth.

When she saw him, she rolled her eyes and put the stocking down next to the plate.

“You weren’t supposed to hear or see me.”

Seeing him raising his eyebrows, she huffed a laugh, exasperated or amused, he wasn’t sure. Maybe both.

“So you made me. Santa doesn’t exist.”

“At least not for crippled ex-spies.“

„Don’t tell Franny.“

„I won’t.“

His eyes rested on the items on the stool, a red stocking, chocolate cubes wrapped in gold and red paper, candy canes and an apple.

Their eyes met when he looked up, Carrie was shifting on her legs uncomfortably, and he swallowed around a lump in his throat.

She never ceased to surprise him. 

That was the one thing which hadn’t changed. Unpredictable, impulsive, often annoying with her misplaced attempts to offer what she considered help - and then, when he really fucked it up, she was there, unwavering, determined, stubborn, and often unreadable. To him at least. He often wondered if he‘d ever understand her or if that was a merciful lie he‘d used to tell himself.

The moment stretched out and Carrie felt uncomfortable. Quinn was looking at her as if he was waiting for something, and she had no idea what it might be. She hated that feeling. It wasn’t a new dynamic, it had been like this ever since he woke up and started to recognize her.

She never knew if it was just that his brain worked slower now and it took him longer to get all his synapses in a row or if he was challenging her. 

She felt like she never knew anything when it was about him. But the alternative wasn’t something she‘d ever consider, it was either this - or giving up on him and losing him. So she kept trying. 

„You didn’t need to do that,“ Quinn broke the silence between them.

„For fuck‘s sake, it’s Christmas, Quinn. I _wanted_ to do that.“

„I don’t have anything for you. Or Franny.“

„You did enough. Tree, ornaments, carousel. All that.“

Quinn shrugged and briefly shook his head, casting another side glance at the arrangement on the small stool he usually had to use to change his shoes. 

„Franny‘s excited? For tomorrow? Santa and all that?“

The flicker of a smile reaching Carrie‘s eyes stirred a moment of tenderness in him. 

When things went really dark, when his mind went to those darkest places, this was what he tried to hold on to. That this was what was worth each and every sacrifice. A little girl, her mother, back together. Carrie alive, seeing her daughter growing up. And fate being a mischievous bastard - he himself back in the mix as well.

„She is. Took me hours to get her to bed today. And she’ll be up before dawn.“

Carrie saw a smile curling the corners of his mouth upwards, making the corners of his eyes crinkle, albeit it couldn’t wash away the sadness in them. But she loved those smiles, they were rare, and earning one of these always made her happy for a brief sweet moment.

He knew she would leave soon. Going upstairs, getting ready for a few hours of sleep before her child would wake her up to celebrate Christmas. And he would return to his basement lair, waiting for another day to pass.

„I- do you want to come in? Coffee or tea?“

She looked at him in surprise, and then sadness veiled her gaze. 

„I wouldn’t hear Franny then.“

He knew she couldn’t invite him upstairs.

„Sure.“ _Good night Carrie_ was what he was going to say.

And again she surprised him.

„But we could sit here for a cup of tea. I‘ll hear her then, just in case.“

And with that, she sat down on the wooden stairs, looking at him expectantly.

„C‘mon Quinn. It’s Christmas.“

It took him a few minutes to sort it all out and have two mugs with tea, steaming next to the Christmas stocking on the stool now. 

They hadn’t talked since they‘d met at the carousel. But this felt similar. Sitting next to her, feeling the warmth of her body against his arm, smelling her scent when she bent forward to reach for the mugs.

Carrie decided not to think. Not to question what this was about. To allow her mind to come to rest. Just for these precious moments. Just to be with him.

They both sipped their tea, and Carrie thought it felt - peaceful. A moment of calm amidst the constant turmoil.

„What was that song you played for Franny?“

She had been wondering about it for a few days now because Franny mentioned it several times and the question slipped out before she really started to think about it.

Quinn didn’t answer and she thought he wouldn’t, but then she noticed him fumbling in his pocket, reaching for something – his phone.

She was glad he was finally using it, he‘d texted her once or twice and it made her feel better to know he had a phone with him when he was out and about all day, God only knew where he went.

Seeing his struggles to use the keys made her turn her attention to her mug again, focusing on taking another sip, and then another one. She never knew how much help he‘d accept, and yet patience had never been her forte.

It hit her when the first notes poured into the hallway, at first sounding like _Jingle Bells_ in minor key, and then the first words filling her mind and heart.

_It’s coming on Christmas, they’re cutting down trees/They’re putting up reindeer, singing songs of joy and peace._

Quietly, she listened to Joni Mitchell’s bereft song about pain, heartbreak, despair and the desperate wish to escape.

_I wish I had a river I could skate away on._

She knew she was about to tear up, and she didn’t even know why. 

Quinn didn’t look at her, holding the phone in his good hand, locking the screen once the last note faded.

„This is how you feel? Quinn?“

He shrugged, feeling her turning her head and looking at him.

She only could see his profile, a long strand of hair covering his eye, the familiar lines of his face creating a landscape of shadows in the dim light.

„And you?“

Only then Quinn turned his face and looked at her, their eyes meeting and making her stomach heave up and then drop. He hadn’t looked at her like this, straight at her face and right into her, for a long time.

„Quite similar I guess.“

His eyes were resting on her face, his eyebrows slowly arching up a little, making Carrie remember the way he‘d used to challenge her. Or maybe not _challenge_ but silently offering her to spin a thought further, to explore an idea more thoroughly.

_So here we are again._

„When I was a child, Christmas was magic,“ she heard herself starting, „and now for Franny… I’m just trying to keep it together these days I guess… but she‘s excited, and so I’m - maybe happy to see her excitement, does that make sense?“

She saw his eyes softening, a fleeting hint of a smile.

„Yeah, that does make sense.“

Carrie was the one to break away first, looking down in her hands still holding the warm mug. She placed it next to her on the stairs, angling for her phone in the pocket of her jeans.

„This is what we liked to listen to for Christmas. At home. My Dad, Maggie and me.“

She pressed a few keys, glad Google was providing what she was looking for.

„My Dad used to say that this was made to soothe the soul“, she said, a sad smile crossing over her face when the jazzy music floated the room.

„Today we are used to that kind of music. But back in the sixties Guaraldi was a pioneer.“

She fell silent, listening to her Dad‘s most favorite Christmas songs, A Charlie Brown Christmas, performed by the Vince Guaraldi trio. 

When the strong, even eighth-note melody – piano, bagpipe and bowed bass – of _Linus and Lucy_ filled the air around them, Carrie had to swallow back tears.

She was aware of Quinn sitting next to her, for over an hour now, warm and steady, her arm less than an inch away from his.

At some point he shifted his leg, causing Carrie to look at him. But just when she was about to speak he slightly shook his head, indicating her to not say it. He didn’t want her to suggest to finish this and going inside.

Because right now – this felt _right_. 

He was still looking at Carrie, she hadn’t turned her face away, there was a small smile at the corners of her mouth, or maybe not. Her eyes were shining, maybe there was a tear. She smiled for real now and then she bent her head to look down, a strand of hair falling over her face.

At first, it was the back of their hands briefly touching, giving in to that pull and coming to rest against each other. But then Carrie raised her hand and broke that connection – but put her hand in his, enlacing her fingers with his, feeling Quinn squeezing her hand. 

She leant in, against his arm and shoulder, their hands resting on his thigh now where he‘d placed them without letting go of her.

She felt him breathing, a deep inhale, slowly exhaling, and then his thumb brushing over the back of her hand.

Six more songs, almost twenty two minutes. 

Time drawing out and shrivelling.

Too short and yet - just _this_ , there and then. Not missing each other _again_ but finding the other one during that one night which promised a miracle, and renewed this promise each and every year.

They sat for long while after the last notes of _The Christmas Song_ , the album’s last song, had faded, both hesitant to break that connection.

„Merry Christmas Quinn“, Carrie finally whispered, using her right arm to reach over to his upper arm and to squeeze it, „I‘m glad you‘re still here.“

„I guess this where I should say _me too_...,“ his voice trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished, brushing along her thumb once more.

But with his hand around hers and his pulse beating steadily beneath her fingers around his left arm, the answer didn’t sting but just felt honest and true.

„C‘mon, I‘ll walk you upstairs,“ Quinn offered after a while when he noticed Carrie suppressing a yawn.

They parted near the front door, reluctantly letting go of the warmth of the other‘s hand.

„Good night Quinn. And merry Christmas.“

He looked down to her, and when she leant up to kiss his cheek, he met her halfway, just before he finally let go of her hand.

„Good night Carrie. Enjoy tomorrow.“

„I will,“ she smiled, and with that finally walked to her door, feeling a surge of joy.

When Quinn arrived back downstairs, he took the mugs and couldn’t help it but felt himself smiling when his eyes came to rest on the Christmas stocking. It was only now that he saw his name on it, written in scraggy letters with puffy paint.


End file.
